"Not exactly. We talked it over carefully--Syd and Salvation and I--and we decided there are some space-rats to whom it shouldn't be made available. Privateers and outlaws, you know. So we turned control of the mines over to the Space Patrol at Uranus, and visiphoned the Earth authorities we were bringing in one cargo--" "Visiphoned!" interrupted Haldane sharply. "Did you say visiphoned?" "Why--why, yes." "From where?" "Oh, just before we reached the Belt. We don't have a very strong transmitter, you know. Sa-a-ay, what's all the excitement, pal? Did we do something that was wrong?" Haldane frowned worriedly. "I don't know, Chip. It wasn't anything _wrong_, but what you did was damned dangerous. For if your message was intercepted, you may have played into the very hands of--the Lorelei!" * * * * * Chip stared at his friend bewilderedly for a moment. Then he grinned. "Hey--I must be getting slightly whacky in my old age. I stand here with an unopened bottle in my hands and hear things! For a minute I thought you said 'Lorelei.' The Lorelei, my space-cop friend, is a myth. An old Teutonic myth about a beautiful damsel who sits out in the middle of a sea on a treacherous rock, combing her golden locks, warbling and luring her fascinated admirers to destruction." He grunted. "A dirty trick, if you ask me. Catch a snort of this alleged Scotch, pal, and I'll torture your eardrums with the whole, sad story." He started to sing. "'_Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten_--'" The Patrolman laid a hand on his arm, silenced him. "It's not funny, Chip. You've described the Lorelei exactly. That's how she got her name. An incredibly beautiful woman who wantonly lures space-mariners to their death. "The only difference is that her 'rock' is an asteroid somewhere in the Belt--and she does not sing, she calls! She began exercising her vicious appeal about two months ago, Earth reckoning. Since then, no less than a dozen spacecraft--freighters, liners, even one Patrolship--have fallen prey to her wiles. Their crews have been brutally murdered, their cargos stolen." "Wait a minute!" interrupted Chip shrewdly. "How do you know about her if the crews have been murdered?" "She has a habit of locking the controls," explained Haldane, "and setting ravaged ships adrift. Apparently there is no room on her hideout--wherever it is--for empty hulks. One of these ships was salvaged by a courageous cabin-boy who hid from the Lorelei and her pirate band beneath a closetful of soiled linens in the laundry. He described her. His description goes perfectly with less accurate glimpses seen over the visiphones of several score spacecraft!" Chip said soberly, "So it's no joke, eh, pal? Sorry I popped off. I thought you were pulling my leg. Where do _I_ come into this mess, though?"